Won't You Do What You Are Wanting
by calendaes
Summary: He knows it will end badly. Everything does and, despite all evidence to the contrary, he's not a stupid person. He just doesn't know how badly. Chase just wants everything to get back to normal, but you don't always get what you want.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Won't You Do What You Are Wanting  
Author: calendae  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: Up to 3.15

_Could you sit with me forever?  
We could count the days.  
Inara George, "Everybody Knows"_

He knows it will end badly. Everything does and, despite all evidence to the contrary, he's not a stupid person. That knowledge doesn't stop him from showing up at her apartment, hand in his pocket as he waits for her at the door.

There's a stain on the runner at the top of her stairwell, partially hidden by the monstrosity of potted plant someone has seen fit to place in the otherwise empty hallway. Bleach has bled the floral pattern orange in places and Chase fights the compulsion to touch the flowers; see if the faded pattern still feels the same as the rest of the new looking rug.

He really shouldn't be here. Not after the shift from hell and the invitation to dinner from the new nurse in PICU. But the text came and here he was. Waiting outside her door and studying the floor coverings.

Right. As if he had a choice. She calls, he comes, that's the arrangement.

_Won't you lay down relax?_

It's taking an inordinately amount of time for her to answer the bell and he checks his phone again, just to be sure. He knocks once more and almost turns to the stairs when he hears the her muffled voice behind the door.

He straightens up when she opens the door, smile at the ready. She's got her phone perched between shoulder and ear and gives him a half-smile and a shrug before stepping back to let him through. She doesn't hang up the phone.

He wanders over to the couch while she heads into the kitchen. A half-empty bottle of white wine and two glasses join a stack of journals on the coffee table and Chase snags the fuller glass while he eavesdrops on Cameron's half of a spirited conversation.

"...because Dad doesn't have enough ties. Uh huh. Sure." There's a playful quality to her sarcasm that Chase hasn't heard since...well, since House. It's nice.

She comes back in the living room balancing a tray of cookies in one hand and the phone in the other. If it weren't for the quick shrug and eyebrow raise, Chase would have thought she hadn't noticed him, but when she gets closer to the couch, it's quite the production for her to step over his knees and the edge of the coffee table. She laughs into the phone when Chase's attempt to remove the plate of cookies from her hands ends with half of them in his lap and her sprawled into the pillows at the other end of the couch.

"What? No, it's nothing. Just took a header into the sofa." She pulls her feet underneath her and grins at Chase. "Whatever, Ben. Not all of us are as perfect as you. Yeah. I'll try, but I can't make any promises. If we have a case..." She trails off, like she's said it a thousand times before. "I know it's his birthday. I said I'll try, okay? Tell Kelly she should come visit and let Mom know that I'm fine. Night!" When she hangs up the phone, he clears his throat.

_When will you know?_

"So," he says, brushing the last of the cookie crumbs off his lap before pouring a little more wine in his glass.

"So." What's the proper etiquette for booty calls again? Luckily, Cameron ends the silence. "That was my little brother, Ben. He's at Northwestern and getting married in July. Crazy! It seems like it was just yesterday that he wanted to be a robot and now he's getting married."

"Huh. That's nice." He's never been sure what to say when people talk about their families, but she seems to expect a response. "Are you going to the wedding?"

He starts to feel the wine as she launches into a monologue of pros and cons of Cameron family events, starting with the advantages of seeing long missed relatives and ending with the disadvantages of listening to said relatives' questions about 'when little Ally would finish with the doctor nonsense and settle down.' It's good, sitting here. He's warm and just a little bit tired, but the flush of her cheeks when she stretches her feet into his lap is more than enough to keep him awake.

He could listen to her all night, he thinks.

But she's stopped talking and is looking at him expectantly. "Hmm?"

She pushes her foot against his thigh, smiling innocently. "How about you? When's the last time you were home?"

He can't deny her foot is having the intended affect, but her question is confusing. Isn't this home? Does she mean Australia? He'd gone down in 2004 for a mate's wedding, but it certainly wasn't home and there was no Chase family reunion. No cousins or aunts or uncles to harass him about his life or lack thereof. The only part of him left there was a few med school friends whose emails came less and less frequently and a few seminarians who would probably remember him if they saw his face. He sometimes wondered what they'd think of him now; if they'd be disappointed or just unsurprised.

She nudges his shoulder this time and he's a little shocked to see she's shifted to his side of the couch. "O-kay. I didn't think that was a hard question, but..." She sighs and tucks herself under his arm, playing with his free hand. Her hair smells nice, like sandalwood and flowers. She's wearing an old sweatshirt and it's good to have her weight on his chest. "Let's try an easy question. Did you have any pets? A koala, maybe?"

He doesn't want to answer, doesn't want to move because she might stop rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand, but obviously, something is expected of him and he always meets expectations. "Nah. I had a turtle once. Bit boring, really. Liked sitting on rocks, eating lettuce. Turtle-y things, of course. Named him Henry."

"Henry?" He feels her giggle and shift closer.

"Oh, yes. Named after Henry Higgins. Mum loved 'My Fair Lady' and this turtle positively exuded a gift for dialects. You could tell by the way he'd perk up when we watched Mary Poppins." He doesn't add that Henry'd disappeared sometime shortly after his dad left.

"We had a golden retriever named Checkers. And a guinea pig. Also named Checkers. I really liked the name." She's almost in his lap now and he'd give anything to stay this way for just a little bit longer, but he's been here enough times to know what's coming next. "What kind of pet do you think House had?"

He has to work a bit to suppress a sigh, but his eyes roll of their own volition. "Something evil, I suppose. Spiders, maybe."

"He is evil. Spiders sound about right. For his evil experiments." She sounds bitter still and who wouldn't be? House had pretended to have brain cancer after all. But bitter isn't all Chase hears in her voice and this time he can't suppress the sigh.

_Are you saving up your faces?_

After, when his limbs are weighing down into the mattress, she kisses his cheek and covers herself with the sheet. He's not sure why. Modesty, after _that_, is pointless. But he likes her contradictions and sharp corners. She pulls a shirt on quickly and pads out to the living room, a sure sign that he is expected to leave.

He could say something. Let her know that he's...

He doesn't know what he is, but he knows he doesn't want this to stop. It's enough that he can pretend, at least for a few moments, that this sordid arrangement is more than what it is. It's worth it, for now, and he thinks he can stop before he gives away too much.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This has turned into a bit of a medical mystery fic. I do have an ending in mind and a plan. Please review!

* * *

_It's a shame, it's a shame, it's a perfect shame.  
Creep under my door and we do it again.  
The Bird and The Bee_

It's the first halfway decent day since September and, while everything's still brown and grey, there's sun and the ground has dried out somewhat; enough that it wouldn't be out of the question to sit on the grass. He sits on the bench anyway. Too risky and he's had enough of taking risks for right now.

His circadian rhythm has been off recently. Can't keep his eyes open during DDX and can't close them when he should be snug in his bed. He can't remember the last time he slept for more than an hour. His "arrangement" with Cameron hasn't helped. Any benefit to the vigorous physical activity diminishes when your post-coital activities include sarcasm and driving across town to your own apartment. Tends to wake a person up.

There's actually a Chase-shaped impression on his previously pristine sofa and he's become intimately familiar with the late night programming of the Food Network. Cameron had it on one night after a particularly active 'date.' He got out of the shower and there she was watching battle mango on the living room couch. She didn't make him leave and it was so absurdly normal, almost as if they were friends enjoying a night in.

One show bleeds into another and there's a perverse sense of accomplishment to watching a meal from start to finish. Silly, but true. He watches until the paid programming starts and sometimes after that. Can't resist the lure of the Magic Bullet. He'd never hear the end of it if House knew he bought one of the damned things.

But he's got his lunch and an unread Annals of Emergency Medicine (plus a copy of People, if there's no one around) and they haven't got a case. He's determined to enjoy it since it's as close to he's come to resting in the last three weeks.

* * *

"Chase!" If there was an award for dismount, his surprised jerk right off the bench may have been a contender. He can't help but glare at Foreman as he pushes himself off the ground and brushes tuna sandwich from his slacks. Foreman just grins.

"Yes?" There's no end to Chase's annoyance with Foreman's satisfied smirk. "Is there a reason you've decided to go around startling people to death?"

Foreman shakes his head. "In case you haven't noticed, it's been three hours. And Cameron's been paging you for the last half hour."

Chase groans, grabbing at his pockets. He's more confused than exasperated when he finds the pager on and flashing. He's never slept through his pager, not even in the hellish initiation of his intern days. It's more than automatic; it's engrained. It's just...weird.

"..th to Chase?" Foreman's smile is all but gone. "You feeling all right?" He gently pushes Chase back on the bench.

"Yeah. No, I'm fine. Just a little tired. Enjoying the sun too much, I suspect." Chase scratches the back of his neck, a sheepish half-grin pulling across his features.

Foreman seems mollified, if skeptical. "You are looking a little pink." He offers a hand, already turning back towards the hospital. "Come on. We've got a case."

Damn. "House?" They've developed a highly sophisticated shorthand consisting of one name in various inflections.

"You've got about five minutes before he notices." They're through the hospital doors and Foreman hesitates as they pass the reception desk. "A little advice, man? This thing with Cameron? Maybe take a break for a few nights. You're looking a little rough."

Chase pushes past him, telegraphing his disapproval with a pointed glare. "Right." He doesn't tell Foreman that it's been 3 days since the last "encounter."

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger! I'm all for you two getting some regular sex. Just...don't let it affect your work." They reach the conference room and Foreman stops Chase before the door. "You screw up and we all suffer."

Chase bites down the urge to snap back. They're too close and Foreman was only trying to help in that pompous, clueless manner of his. But Chase didn't need another father. Didn't even need an older brother. "Note taken."

They slide into their usual places around the table and await the arrival of House. Cameron watches Chase closely and it's a little annoying. He shrugs his shoulders and mouths a quick "What?" She rolls her eyes and turns back to the file in front of her.  
He's honestly a little disappointed. It's ridiculous, of course. There's nothing wrong with him that a good night's sleep would take care of, but he'd hoped she'd...something. Chase groans silently and rubs his face.

"I'm sorry. Am I bothering you, Chase? I'll just go tell our patient to stop dying because her doctor needs an afternoon nap." Fuck. How House can surprise him every time is a mystery he doesn't even want to solve. It wouldn't change anything. "You with us now? Good. We've got a 37 year old church organist hearing God, and oh yeah, she's got a goiter the size of a guinea pig. It's fantastic. Differential?"

They go to work.

* * *

It turns out to be a simple case of schizophrenia (as if any mental illness is simple) and an iodine deficiency. The labs that had initially interested House were mislabeled. A waste of time for all involved, except maybe the patient who would finaly get the treatment she needed.

Anyway.

He's been at home for hours and he's no closer to sleep. Alton Brown is making some sort of casserole that looks mildly interesting. Not interesting enough to stay up for, not really, but sleep is elusive and he's tried everything.

Well. Not everything. But it's late and Cameron's probably asleep. Besides, he's not the one who calls.

He's just the one who waits.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm hoping for more regular, but shorter updates from now on. Things are just starting to get interesting.

* * *

On the days when there's no case and he's already finished his clinic hours, Chase rearranges the journals and books piled on the conference table in order of size. Depending on the day before, it can be quite the herculean task. Not so much today.

Today he has time for his second slow day activity. It'd been a necessity during those few years when it had just been Mum and him and he'd never quite dropped the habit. So when he had time, he'd pull out his moleskin notepad and jot down a few lists. Never anything important, not anymore, but little reminders of whatever was going on in his life at the time. He supposed it was similar to a journal, although no one there's no way anyone else would understand the random combinations of words and numbers on the page.

In his head, he titles the list, "five things I want." These are the lists that take the longest and most times, he doesn't even finish.

1. Sandwich

_This one is obvious. It's almost 2 and he's waiting for Cameron to finish with the mail, so he can suggest a trip to the cafeteria. He hasn't had anything to eat since that bagel for breakfast, and he could murder a roast beef sandwich right now. But the promise of a few minutes away with Cameron to himself is more tempting than a full stomach. They're at their best when the promise of "uncomplicated" sex is far removed. Nothing forced, nothing expected. She'll smile, he'll laugh and sometimes she'll touch his arm or he'll brush her hair from her face and it's almost like they're in a relationship. A real relationship. It's totally pathetic how much he wants this. How much he's willing to overlook to keep the charade alive. Like his grumbling stomach._

2. Peeps

_Peeps are both cheerful and delicious. And it's right around the time of the year that they start showing up at grocery store counters, staring at him with their tiny peep eyes. He can't resist them. Every Easter, he stockpiles a few of the yellow and purple ones in the cupboard by his refrigerator. He doesn't use the space often and it's easy to forget them. They're even better when they're just this side of stale. Food. He really wants food._

3. Coffee

_Apparently, all his wants (besides a relationship with Cameron) are sustenance focused. Not surprising because of the gnawing hunger. Will Cameron ever finish with the mail? It's as if she wants to torture him. Coffee is nearing necessity status..._

There's a fresh pot of coffee across the room, but grabbing a fresh cup would mean getting up from the table and Chase is suddenly tired through to his bones. The list and his hunger forgotten, Chase puts his head down on the table to rest his eyes for a minute. Just a week ago he'd been complaining about insomnia and now he can't keep his eyes open.

There's a niggling thought in the back of his mind that this isn't normal; that something isn't quite right. But he's a busy doctor and under a lot of stress and he never eats right, so there's a lot that can be excused. There's a three day weekend coming up and he'll catch up on sleep then.

* * *

He feels her hand on his arm before he can even attempt to open his eyes. It's freezing in the room and when he shivers, she squeezes his arm. That's enough and he sleepily grins in her direction.

"Hey." He rubs the back of his neck after he finally sits upright. His arms still feel asleep, like they aren't attached to his body and when he finally turns to Cameron, he notices her face is halfway between amused and concerned.

"Are you okay?" she says, brushing the hair off his forehead. "You feel a little warm and look like crap."

"Thanks." He can't deny he's seen better days, but he's seen worse as well and worked through it. "I'm okay. Just a little tired, I think."

She smiles at that and reaches under her chair for a plastic grocery bag. "Because we've been so busy lately, right. Stop watching so much tv when you should be sleeping." She pulls out two sandwiches and puts the larger in front of Chase. "I thought you might be hungry."

He could kiss her, right there in the office, Cuddy be damned. The sandwich is glorious, though the lettuce has wilted and the bread is wet. He takes a bite before he sees that Cameron is owed a response. "Thank you. This is perfect. I love you." It's only after he offers the effusive praise that he realizes what he's said.

To her credit, she doesn't skip a beat and ignores his misstep. "You're welcome. Are you thirsty?" She pulls the bag open again to take out a drink and Chase sees a third sandwich, a reuben, tucked neatly in the bag. Right. Nothing special about this lunch.

"Sure. Thanks." He must be really tired, because he can't keep the disappointment out of his voice. She has that quizzical, scrunched face that always makes him smile, but he can't right now. Who is he kidding? This isn't working for anyone but her and blind nuns in Cambodia can probably see the trainwreck coming.

But Chase has never been one to leave before the end of the movie, no matter how horrible. Sometimes he thinks it's morbid curiousity, wanting to see how long it takes to implode, like when he was in uni and didn't clean his dorm for weeks. Or maybe it's part of his neurosis, sticking with women who have little to no regard for his feelings. Mum always apologized, but never even tried to get better. He's reasonably sure that if he told Cameron about _this thing_, she'd try to be nice about it, but she'd run as soon as she got the chance. At least now there's almost a guarantee that he'd be going home with her tonight. Better than nothing and more than he deserved.

"Earth to Chase?" Cameron's face has moved from quizzical to concerned and she's got her hand on his arm again. "You're zoning out. Are you sure you're alright? You feel really warm."

"I think I might be coming down with something. Something was going around in the clinic this week. Just a matter of time really." He tries for reassuring and fails miserably. "I'm going to knock off early and get some sleep, will you cover for me?"

"Of course. You want me to come over? I could play doctor." _Tempting. _"I make a mean chicken noodle."

It's almost inconceivable to him when he hears himself say no. Must be sicker than he thought. She forces him to sit through a quick examination (as a joke, he thinks) and they both sigh when the thermometer she produced from her pockets puts him firmly in the fevered category.

"Go home, Chase."

* * *

He gets home somehow even though the bone-deep fatigue had returned halfway through the drive home and managed to take some tylenol before crawling into bed.

He dreams of running, reaching for things that fall just outside his grasp.

And then he's falling.

When he wakes, the bed is damp with sweat and his skin feels too tight. 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This is where the story really begins. It was a little hard to write happy Cameron/Chase after that last episode, but that is the sacrifice I'm willing to make.

* * *

There's only so long he can stay in bed, even if he doesn't have to go to work. It's ten o'clock and he's feeling much better after a shower and two bowls of Lucky Charms. They really are magically delicious. Three day weekends don't come often enough.

He's halfway through a "Dirty Jobs" marathon when the doorbell rings. He opens the door in his pajamas with hair sprouting off in who knows how many directions. He's a bit of a mess, but there's only three people it could be and none of them would care what he looked like. He half-expects to see Mrs.Monge, the widow next door, hoping help with her sink again.

But it's not her.

"Cameron, hi." He opens the door and steps back to let her into the apartment. "I didn't expect to see you here." He didn't. Cameron has never been to his apartment proper, though she had walked him to his door a few times in the past few months.

Cameron's sheepish grin and awkward hands give no clue to her purpose. She stands in the entryway and shrugs. "I don't know."

"Oh."

She stops and starts before finally putting her hand on his arm. "I wanted to see if you were okay, I think." She's not quite in pajamas, but he's never seen her so dressed down either.

"I'm fine. I think I was just tired." If he doesn't move, they'll never sit down. "Come in. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything?" He gestures towards the kitchen where the Lucky Charms are still out on the counter with a carton of orange juice.

Cameron finally moves past Chase and over to the couch. "Um. Orange juice, please."

"Are you sure you're not interested in some marshmallow goodness?" Chase calls out from the kitchen. "It's not terribly stale."

He can hear her giggle from the couch and instantly feels more at ease. "I think I'll pass. So this is casa de Chase, huh?"

He rinses out a glass and fills it with OJ. "Yeah. Home sweet hovel. It's a place to sleep."

"I like it. It's...cozy." Chase returns to the small living room and hands her the glass of juice. "A little generic maybe, but very you."

He sits on the other end of the couch and puts his feet on the coffee table. "So I'm generic now? Hmm. Good to know."

"Not generic. Just..." Her pause seems to hang in the air forever and suddenly he almost can't bear to hear what she has to say about him. He's been careful to separate his feelings for her from this thing they're doing, but whatever she says now could make things a little too real. "You're just a difficult guy to figure out. I mean, we've worked together for almost three years and I still know almost nothing about you."

It isn't good or bad, but the sinking feeling in his stomach doesn't go away. "I am very mysterious. It's the foreign thing. Throws people off the scent."

"Right." They sit quietly together, Cameron sipping her juice and Chase scratching at his shoulder. It's been driving him crazy for the last week. No visible rash or insect bites, but the itching won't stop.

It's nice, if a little awkward. Chase is struck by the ridiculous nature of their relationship. They're perfectly comfortable together when they're naked, but a simple conversation is strained. It's so absurd! He laughs a little and Cameron raises an eyebrow.

"Okay. You sure you're okay?" She smiles despite herself and pushes back the hair on his forehead. "You are feeling a little hot. Are you hot, Chase?"

So this is how it goes. He can deal with this. "I think I've got a fever, Dr. Cameron. What should I do?"

She's got him pinned against the couch end, a not uncomfortable position. She's warm and heavy against him, her knee digging into his thigh a little. "In my professional opinion?" He nods. "I think you should let me take care of you."

So he does.

* * *

And it ends. 

Inertia only carries things so far when there's barriers on both sides.

He thought maybe, just maybe once in his life, he'd reach a hand out and see what happened. It's his fault, really. Nothing to be done but move on. If there's one thing he's good at, it's moving on. Every time it gets a little bit easier and he loses a little bit more of himself.

But it isn't healthy to dwell.

He spends the next two weeks taking care of the little things he'd let slide in the past three years. His taxes are done, his carpets steam-cleaned, his visa renewed and extended. He'd polish his silver if he actually had something more than the 20 dollar Target special.

Foreman can only look at him and shake his head. It's condescending but somewhat comforting at the same time. House hasn't done or said anything out of the ordinary, which is itself out of the ordinary. There's enough ammunition for a hundred different attacks and Chase can only figure that House is saving the most choice barbs for a more amusing time. The surreal hug in the wake of fake brain cancer has thrown off their balance.

And Cameron. Well. Nothing but civility there. He can feel the ache in the middle of his chest when he looks at her, a small reminder of what hadn't been. He wants to be angry, to shout all those things he heard through the wall before his parents separated, but he knows it's not her he's furious with. She'd never been anything but truthful and it was only his boneheaded assumptions that caused them both pain. 

It's easier this way.

* * *

This is the final task on his list of minutiae, a trip to the doctor to address the continuing fatigue and persistent low fever. It's probably nothing, he's convinced himself. A consequence of long hours and an immune system battered by stress and constant exposure to all manner of disease. A quick self-examination had revealed some slightly swollen lymph nodes in his neck. A mild case of mono, maybe. He'd had it once before in seminary, where the "kissing disease" was harder to explain away.

It's easy enough to get an appointment through the hospital's HMO and he's in the office that afternoon. 

The nurse had given him a paper gown and taken his vitals, leaving him cold and alone in the exam room. Fifteen minutes later, a harried doctor entered the room.

"Doctor Chase? Hi, I'm Dr. Norcini, but you can call me Susan." She offers her hand and he's actually put at ease. Nice. "I see you've got a bit of a fever. Dr. House running you ragged, I assume."

"His reputation precedes me. And please call me Robert." She's pulled over the stool and is perched by the exam table. "I'm due a check-up and I think I might have a case of mono."

"Self-diagnosis is a sticky wicket. Why don't you let me do the doctoring?"

"Right." She takes a thorough history and he can't stop his brain from running an impromptu DDX, the worst case scenarios flashing by as she starts her physical exam.

"Is this tender?" She palpates his neck, her face blank.

"No. Not particularly."

"Have you had any sore throats recently?" She scribbles some notes in the history. "In the past week or two?"

"No," he swallows as if to check. She frowns and scribbles something else. She has him lie down on the table, gown in his lap. He feels horribly exposed but says nothing except one or two word answers to her questions. She's a cipher until she reaches his underarm. Her sharp intake of breath can't be good.

"Is this tender? Right here?" She presses down and he shakes his head. It feels strange, but not bad exactly, just weird. "Have you noticed this?" She guides his hand to his left axillary lymph node and he almost gasps himself. How could he not notice something so different in his own body? The lump is small but noticeable, anything but good. She must see the alarm in his eyes, the change in his breathing, and she pulls the gown back up over his shoulders.

"No. I hadn't noticed." His face is flushed but his head feels full of helium, lighter than air.

"--tor Chase?" Her face is suddenly close to his ear and he feels like laughing, but the room has turned an awfully dull shade of gray around the edges. He feels himself being pulled into a semi-upright position, head between his knees. It's a few minutes before he comes back to himself. "Are you back with me?"

He swallows hard, embarrassed and still a little dizzy. "Um. Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't be. That's the bad part about being a doctor. You know too much about the possibilities and percentages. This could be nothing, Robert. You said you had mono before?"

"Yeah. When I was 17." The room has stopped spinning and Dr. Norcini is eying him with compassion. 

"This could be related to that. There are many other causes, but I'd like to do a biopsy today, just to be sure. Do you have to work today?"

"No. But isn't this a little fast to be doing any invasive tests?" Even if he doesn't feel like it at the moment, he can sound like a doctor.

"Ordinarily, yes. I'm sure you know that I'd normally have you come in for a follow-up in a few weeks, but I'm concerned about your fatigue. You said it'd been pretty constant and sudden over the last two months and you've had a low-grade fever for a while now, I'd guess. Thepruritis is also a little concerning. It's entirely possible you've got a unusual presentation of mono, but I'd like to be totally sure." She doesn't explicitly state the worst case scenario, but once it enters his mind he can think of nothing else. "If you'd like me to refer you to a specialist, I can, but we've got the resources to do this today and I know how busy your schedule is."

There isn't anything to do but agree. "No, today is good."

"Great. Do you have someone you can call to pick you up?"

"No." He doesn't look up from the floor. "I can drive myself home. It's just a local, right?"

She sighs. "It is. But I'd like to give you something to relax you. This is stressful under the best of circumstances and you really shouldn't be alone."

There's no one. Had this been three weeks ago, he might have tried Cameron. She seemed to enjoy playing nurse and wouldn't have asked many questions. House is not a possibility for obvious reasons and Foreman. Well, Foreman is a possibility, though he'd probably grumble over the interruption of his day off. "I don't know, there's one person I could maybe call, if it's absolutely necessary."

"It is."

She leaves him in the room while she arranges for the biopsy and he stares at his cell, trying to work out what to tell Foreman. Hey, Foreman, can you come pick me up? I'm having a biopsy to rule out cancer and they don't want me to be alone. Guess what? You're my closest friend here, isn't that pathetic?

In the end, he tells Foreman his car had broken down and to Foreman's credit, he doesn't comment on Chase's dubious state of sobriety when he picks him up in the clinic parking lot. 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Okay, yeah. Melodramatic antics abound in this chapter, but finally! Answers!

* * *

Foreman's car is something black and expensive, similar to Chase's own. If he'd known anything about cars, he's sure he'd be impressed, but as it is, Chase is just grateful for the leather seats and air conditioning. He's buckled in and ready to go, but Foreman is still eying him suspiciously.

"You're not going to ralph in the car are you?" Chase sighs and shifts down lower into the seat.

"I'm fine, Foreman."

"You don't look fine." Foreman starts the car, it barely makes a hum in the chilly interior. "You look drugged."

Chase smiles. "Maybe a little."

"I gotta visit a different doctor. Mine's a little tightfisted with the good stuff." Chase shivers and Foreman turns down the fan. "What did they do to you?"

This isn't a conversation Chase is planning on having anytime soon. Especially not with Foreman, who would probably thank him for the avoidance later. His brain's working just fast enough to come up with a plausible cover story. It's not quite a lie, yet. "Had some moles removed. Too much sun and surf. Can't be too careful."

It must be good enough, since Foreman just shrugs and turns on the radio. "Whatever. You owe me for the ride."

Foreman's driven him home a few times before, so Chase lets his eyes close, just for a minute. The sun is warm and whatever Dr. Norcini gave him has him feeling no pain. Not much of anything at all, really.

* * *

He wakes up when Foreman stops the radio. Despite the near-silent engine, there's still a void of sound now and Chase can almost hear Foreman thinking. He shifts slightly in his seat and notices the outside of his apartment building. Right.

"Dude. We've been here for like, five minutes. I know I said I'd give you a ride, but my car is not your bedroom." Someday, Foreman's eyes are going to stay all rolled up in the back of his head and what will he do then. The image of Foreman stumbling around the conference room flits into Chase's head and he can't help but giggle. "Okay. You are stoned."

"Yeah," Chase drawls, but he reaches for the seatbelt still. His arms feel asleep and as he twists he feels the first sharp bite of pain under his arm. "Oh. Not good."

"All right, rocket man. Let's get you upstairs." Foreman can be condescending even when he's trying to help. It's endearing; familiar. Chase didn't think he was that far gone, but he trips over his own feet while getting out of the car. Foreman catches him.

"Sorry."

There's an exasperated sigh to his left and Foreman's strong arms pull him from his slump on the side of the car. "You owe me for this. I've got better things to do than drag your white ass all around Princeton proper just because you don't know the number for a cab."

He doesn't know if it's the medication or Foreman's words, but his stomach twists heavily. "I really am sorry, Foreman. It won't happen again."

Something in his tone must be just pitiful enough to gain Foreman's pity. Not the intended effect, but he is a bit pitiful right now. "Chase, I'm here, okay. Just...let's go upstairs. Watch the game, if you're up for it."

Chase knows that any other day, any other time he'd have shrugged off the offer. They aren't friends, not really, but for now, he'll take what he can get.

* * *

Chase is pretty sure he fell asleep at some point during the game. He wasn't really paying attention. When he woke up, Foreman had already left and there was a post-it on the coffee table telling him to call Monday if he needs a ride.

Now that the sedation has worn off some, there's really nothing left to do but worry. He could call pathology himself but the results wouldn't be in till tomorrow at the earliest and there's a strange comfort in handing that responsibility over to another doctor. It's a simple enough test, one he's run dozens of times over the past 6 years. He can see the steps in his head but somehow the thought of his cells under a microscope is less than comforting.

God help him, he wants his mom. She'd been rubbish at the everyday stuff, but at least she was there and he knew that she loved him. Not enough to stop drinking, but if he tries hard enough he can almost feel her fingers in his hair. It's a sharp memory, hitting hard in places he'd rather not go. She was a good mom, sometimes.

And then there was his father. He'd been crap as a dad, but Chase wants to hear his detached tone one more time. He would calmly explain the probabilities and procedures in a purely clinical way, but it would be so familiar and perfectly right.

He wants to hear something familiar, something from his sordid past. It's been years, but he still has a few numbers for some of his med school friends back in Australia. It'll be a momentary distraction, something to take his mind off the slight burning in his side and the diagnosis that might be on its way. If it goes badly, he'll just blame it on the fever.

The address book is still in the top desk drawer and he finds Janet on the third page. If it hadn't been for Janet, he'd never have made it through his OB rotation. He dials before he remembers to check the time.

It rings and there's a shuffle before he hears her voice. "Hello?"

"Janet. Hey, it's Robert." There's a short pause. "Robert Chase? From med school?" This was a bad idea.

"Rob! We thought you'd fallen off the face of the earth! Where are you? What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing. Just a little homesick, I guess. How are you?"

"Really good. Did you get that last card we sent? The kid is growing so fast. Never thought I'd have one of my own, but here she is, just as perfect as can be." He can hear the baby gurgle on the other end of the line.

"I still can't believe you married Max. And carried his spawn. I've never met two people that hated each other more." She laughs and for the first time today Chase feels like smiling.

"Things happen for the best, Rob. I really love him. And little Imogen." She sighs. "How about you? What's the great and mysterious House like?"

"He's an ass. Brilliant, but an ass." He hesitates. "I like it though. Always something new, you know?"

"You always were a bit manic. Never thought you'd settle in America, but nothing ever works out exactly like you think, right?"

"Right. Life's...unpredictable." It's so nice to hear her voice, to know that there's someone out there that cares just a little even.

"You all right, Rob? You sound a bit down."

"Yeah, no. I'm fine." She makes a disapproving cluck. "It's nothing. I'm just waiting for some test results and wanted to hear a familiar voice. If that's okay."

"Robert Chase! You are not a bother. I love to hear from you more often.

They talk for a long time, until Imogen starts to fuss and Chase's hand starts to ache from awkwardly holding the phone. When he finally hangs up, he's alone again.

* * *

He manages to sleep a bit that night, waking up soaked in sweat. He wonders if this is what it's like for his patients. If they know that there's something wrong, something unnamed and wild inside of them. Every time he looks in the mirror this weekend he wonders if this will be the last time he sees himself like this. The before.

When he makes it to the office on Monday, Cameron and Foreman are already there. She looks at him strangely and he knows it's probably because Foreman told her about their Friday adventure, but today he can't stop to think about why.

They get a case in the afternoon.

His phone rings during the first DDX session and he dodges House's evil stare as he wanders to the lounge for some privacy.

"Dr. Chase?"

"Yes."

"Can you come into the office this afternoon?"

"No. Not today."

Dr. Norcini sigh. Chase knows that sigh. "Do you want your results now?"

"Yes. Please."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Chase. Your biopsy showed a large presence of Reed-Sternberg cells. It's a pretty classic presentation of Hodgkin's."

There's nothing to say. He's glad that he's already sitting.

"Dr. Chase? Are you still there?"

He takes a deep breath. "Yes."

"Good. I'd like to refer you to a specialist as soon as possible. This is difficult, I know, but the sooner you start treatment, the better."

"Okay."

"I'm very sorry, Dr. Chase. My office will be calling you with the referral information. Do you have someone you prefer?"

"Um. Yes. Dr. Wilson. Thanks." He regrets it as soon as it's out of his mouth. What Wilson knows, House knows and for the first time, he can understand his father's reticence.

After he gets off the phone, he goes to Cuddy's office to ask for the rest of the day off.

She doesn't ask why and he doesn't offer information. Everyone will know soon enough.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry about that last chapter. I'll go back and revise eventually, but I was really tired! Hope this one is better! Please review!

* * *

He doesn't know what he's supposed to do; how he should react. So he's been sitting on his couch with a bottle of wine, flipping through the few photo albums and yearbooks he'd brought with him when he moved. It's maudlin and self-indulgent, something he rarely allows for himself. But if this isn't an occasion for a good brood, there never will be. 

The thing is, he doesn't _feel_ any different. He's felt poorly for months. There's nothing different about today, except now he has an answer. A name for the thing wreaking havoc with his lymphatic system.

He has a picture of his mother, one of his favorites, where she's squinting at the sun, G and T in hand, looking very cross indeed. Right before his father had left, the family went on holiday to Thailand and it's obvious to him now that it was a last ditch effort on the part of his parents to try and salvage a marriage that had been failing for many years. He looks at this picture and only sees his mum scolding his dad for taking Robbie to one of the small local clinics on a consult; his dad was out of frame and Chase remembers how his father had taken the glass out of Mum's hand and kissed her forehead, ending her protests.

He doesn't want to look at it now. Doesn't want to ruin the memory, because now all he can think is about how she must have known what was coming. Must have seen her tenuous grip on Dr. Rowan Chase slipping away and all she could do was pour herself another drink. No one could ever love her enough. Cameron had been wrong. Hate isn't toxic. Indifference is.

Like mother, like son, he thinks.

Avoidance sets in at the start of the second bottle of wine. The repeated litany of "I'll be okay" changes to "I am okay" and he feels a little better. Logically, he knows that things will move quickly. The standard course of treatment for someone his age is aggressive; the sooner, the better. But screw it, tonight he is having some good shiraz and tomorrow he will go to work and be yelled at by House. It'll be Tuesday, so Cameron? He doesn't know.

* * *

He wakes up on the couch before the alarm; last night's resolution heavy on his mind. He forces himself to focus on the little things, showering, shaving, brushing his teeth, picking out his clothes. This is a normal day, one of the few he has left. 

Cameron greets him on his return to the office and soon he's sitting in the chair closest to the bookshelf, coffee in hand. Cameron fusses with his jacket and makes a face when she sees his green shirt, brown tie and white sweater vest combo.

"You get dressed in the dark or is your cold affecting your eyesight?"

He smiles and lets himself bask in the glow of her attention. It doesn't take much. "What? I like this shirt."

They both nod when Foreman enters and Cameron sits in the chair closest to him. "The shirt's fine, it's the vest that concerns me."

It's easy to forget the news of yesterday when Cameron pulls on his tie and smiles. "I thought you liked a good vest," he says, before sitting back in his chair and folding his hands over his chest.

"That may be true, but I happen to have very good taste in sweater vests. Your's leaves something to be desired. Like a time machine to go back and scrub the image from my brain."

Foreman sighs and rolls his eyes from the other side of the table. "Are you guys back together?"

"No!," they both state in unison.

"Whatever."

Chase smiles sheepishly at Cameron before he shrugs and grabs a journal from the center of the table. He reads an article about insulin resistance and HIV-related lipoatrophy, nothing he cares about while they wait for House to bust into the room. Foreman and Cameron chat about something and it really is just like any other day.

About 20 minutes later, House walks in, drops a file on the table, and says simply, "Vasculitis," before he turns and heads into his office, closing the door behind himself.

They're busy with tests and the patient history for most of the morning and regroup in the office after lunch. Cameron has written the patient's symptoms on the board and they're half-heartedly throwing out suggestions. House is still in his office, probably downloading porn or doing something only slightly less obscene. It is Tuesday, after all.

Finally, having exhausted a combined 7 years of diagnostic experience, they look towards House's office door. Foreman is the first to speak. "I'm not doing it."

Cameron scoffs audibly. "Neither am I." Both Chase and Foreman laugh at that. "Well, I'm not. Chase should go. He was sick yesterday and we had to deal with House whining about that stupid dog all day. Did you know that there's over 2400 species of fleas? Because I do now. Chase, your turn."

She is right. It's only fair. He walks over to the office door and peeks his head in. "House?"

The giant tennis ball flies towards his head and he catches it. He swears he can hear House grumble. "What? I gave you the answer. And don't think I don't know what you were doing yesterday." Chase's stomach drops. "I saw the posters for the circus last week and knew you couldn't pass up an opportunity to see the clowns." Good.

"It's not vasculitis. That fit when he came in, but not now. The tests are all clear." Chase pushes the door open wider and steps one foot into the office.

House regards him with an annoyed glare. "Did you lose a bet or are you just a moron? Stupid question. It's still vasculitis. Get an MRI with contrast and check the kidneys."

"Done and done. It's not the kidneys."

"I'm curious, did you buy that vest in the little girl's department? Because it really brings out your eyes." House maneuvers his way out of the chair and pushes his way past Chase into the conference room. He's taken the bait.

* * *

They spend the next half hour throwing out wild suggestions with House shooting them down and adding a few of his own. Soon, there's a new round of theories and multitude of tests to be run. It's a well-practiced routine and they all play a part, pushing forward and pulling back in a orchestrated wave. 

House caps the pen and steps back from the whiteboard while they gather their things. Chase watches House out of the corner of his eye, knowing that there will be a yelled request or insult as soon as they start out the door. House's attention is on a figure in the hall and Chase stops short when he sees Wilson. He'd forgotten, for a few hours, that he's sick. House is saying something and Wilson is responding, but Chase can't concentrate on the words. Fuck.

The fatigue he'd been successfully ignoring all morning is screaming through his limbs and he wants to sit down, but he won't. There's tests to be run and family members to interrogate. Instead, he leans against the back of a chair and takes a few quick breaths. He's staring down at the file in his hand when he feels a hand pat his shoulder.

It's Wilson, looking at him strangely. "Dr. Chase, a word?"

He tries to play it cool and shrugs at House then to follow Wilson. "Yeah, alright."

He doesn't see House watching as they walk out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I had a move and I'm right in the middle of buying a place. Things are crazy! This chapter is short, but it sets up a few things. Hope you enjoy! Please review if you like!

* * *

He's been in Dr. Wilson's office before. Many times, in fact. But he's usually on the couch in the corner or standing by the desk while House or Foreman or Cameron argues their case. He's never been in the chair directly across from the desk.

Wilson is sighing on the other side of the desk and shuffling papers into a pile. He hasn't said anything since they both sat down but Chase isn't going to break the silence.

Two years ago, his father sat in this very chair and listened to Dr. Wilson confirm his terminal diagnosis. Chase wonders if Dr. Wilson feels a sense of deja vu towards the circumstances. There's a certain poetry to it. Chase had fought so hard to understand his father in life, never quite succeeding. All it took was a potentially life-threatening illness.

Dr. Wilson clears his throat. "Dr. Chase?"

"Robert is fine."

"Okay. Robert." Dr. Wilson nods and gives what seems to be a well-designed, reassuring smile. "I wish this meeting were under better circumstances."

Chase snorts. "So do I," he says under his breath and immediately feels contrite. This isn't Dr. Wilson's fault. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You're under an unbelievable amount of stress right now and being a little short with people stating obvious things is completely forgivable." Wilson pauses but Chase has nothing else to say. "Dr. Norcini sent over your records and I've reviewed them. It's a pretty clear case of Hodgkin's, Robert. Now, I'm happy to be your doctor if you'd like, but if you'd feel more comfortable with one of the other attendings, I'd understand. My relationship with House makes things a little... tricky."

Chase nods. "No, I want you." There's the fact that Wilson is board certified in both radiation and medical oncology. But more important is the fact that his father had trusted Dr. Wilson. "If you'll have me. I know you're very busy."

Wilson sighs. "I'm never too busy to help a colleague. Have you told anyone? Your family?"

It's Chase's turn to sigh. "No. I've got a great-aunt in Prague, but seeing as I met her once when I was 8, I don't think it would be quite relevant. It's just me. I--I haven't told anyone from work yet."

"I'm not sure how long I could keep this from House. You may want to think about telling him. And start arranging some time off." Chase nods and Dr. Wilson continues. "Your biopsy showed at least two nodes affected, but we'll need to do additional testing to see what other areas might be involved."

"Pet scan?"

"For a beginning, yes. You're symptomatic, so I'd like to be thorough and aggressive. We'll probably want to do a bone marrow biopsy, depending on the results of the pet scan and Dr. Norcini noted your spleen is slightly enlarged, so a laparatomy or splenectomy is a possibility. But I'd like to avoid that if possible and I'm sure you would too."

It's strange to hear familiar tests and procedures laid out for him. Frightening, really. Chase had known what the likely course of testing would be, but this makes it real. "Right." Wilson seems to be waiting for more of a response. "I--what's the time frame for these tests?"

Chase knows of course, what the answer will be, but he plays his part anyway. "Well, the sooner the better. I'd like to get you in for a thorough history and physical next week. Monday, I think. I'd like to schedule the PET scan for next week as well, but we'll have to check on the availability of the scanner."

Chase nods again. "And after that?"

"We'll see. I can't make any definitive statements about treatment options until we have more information, but since you're already symptomatic, chemo and radiation are both indicated. Your blood counts are not great, but not horrible." Dr. Wilson flips through the file once more before he closes it and turns all his attention to Chase. "I know you're probably overwhelmed right now, Robert. But Hodgkin's is probably one of the most curable cancers. It's going to be really bad for a while, but it will get better."

"Thanks." Chase stares at his hands and swallows hard. There's a headache forming at his temples and a curl of nausea in his stomach. He feels Dr. Wilson staring at him, but can't look up, not now. The knot in his throat is getting harder to swallow by the second.

"Are you okay, Robert?" When Chase doesn't answer, Dr. Wilson slowly moves to the chair next to Chase and puts a hand on his shoulder. "I know we're not really friends but I'd like to be there for you. If you'd let me."

Chase takes a deep breath and finally looks up. "I can't ask you to do that. I appreciate the offer, but I'll be fine."

Wilson seems to hesitate, like he knows Chase is lying but wants to take the out anyway. "I don't doubt that. But even the strongest person needs a support system at a time like this, okay? You might want to consider telling some friends."

"I will," Chase readily replies with no real intention of telling anyone.

"And you need to tell House. He's going to find out anyway and it's probably better if he hears it from you. He's not above breaking into my office for files." Wilson takes his hand off Chase's shoulder and smiles. "You're going to get through this, Robert."


	8. Chapter 8

Part 7a: Part b will be up later tonight. Sorry for the lag between updates. I mean, wow, has it almost been a year? Yes, it has. Hopefully some people will still be interested.

* * *

When he leaves Wilson's office, there's only so much he can do.

Foreman stares at him with something akin to disgust, a not uncommon occurrence. It's achingly familiar and comfortingly mundane. He fumbles at the whiteboard and Cameron rolls her eyes. He doesn't have a comeback

He feels House's appraising gaze on the back of his neck and turns away, mumbling something about not feeling well. House says nothing, just shrugs and moves out of the doorway.

As he leaves, House calls after him, telling him to come back when he doesn't look like he's going to kill somebody. There's meaning in the words, a shared moment in a garden, a suspension, and a dead mother, but Chase doesn't stop, doesn't look back.

* * *

He goes home, he does his laundry and makes a pork chop for dinner but he can't eat. Later, when he moves his colors to the dryer and takes out his whites, he finds a red sock clinging to his favorite white shirt, dye bleeding over the seams, leaving a stain where his heart would be.

It's only then that he lets himself sit down, lets himself be crushed into the sofa by the weight of his stupid feelings. The blind panic has been replaced by a slow and steady stream of confusion.

What does this mean; what is he supposed to learn from this? Because there has to be a point. I can't just be random.

But it is. It's something that just happens and why would he be special? he's certainly not a lucky person. Not even a very good person.

Maybe it's punishment, maybe it's not; maybe he should just crawl into a bottle and embrace his ancestry. His father's diseased heritage has made itself known; why not his mother's? Why anything? He's tried so hard.

The dryer buzzes and he stops thinking for a while.

* * *

He wakes, soaked in sweat and tired still. Today, he thinks, is the day. Today is the day it becomes real because today he will tell House.

And House will...well, House will do what he wants which is probably nothing or maybe something perverse. Chase doesn't know which would be worse.

He showers, dresses and chokes down a bowl of cereal.

* * *

He visits Cuddy first, her face falling into a mask of sympathy as he quietly explains that he'll need some time off for treatment, but that he'd like to keep working as long as possible and if she could, would she mind not saying anything to anyone yet.

She says of course, and asks if she can do anything. He shakes his head, a stupid lump forming in his throat as she steps around her desk and puts a hand on his arm.

Neither of them know what to do and he swallows, looking away. She squeezes his forearm and says it will be okay in a shaky voice. Then in a stronger voice, she tells him he needs to go to human resources and fill out paperwork; that they would give him what he needs to get better.

He leaves, feeling unsettled and vaguely comforted.

* * *


End file.
